Trick or Treat
by MLaw
Summary: April's annual Halloween party is over but not it's time for the after party with some serious drinking going on. Illya begins to recite Poe's poem "The Raven" and that's when things begin to happen...


"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as if someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door..."

As if on cue, there was a loud rapping," **Bang-Bang-Bang!** "

"Illya stop that,"April Dancer elbowed the Russian in the side.

"I am doing nothing but reciting from 'The Raven' and nothing more."

"Then who did that?" She demanded. "Come on guys, don't interrupt Illya. He  
always does this so well and it's a perfect end to the night."

April and the others were feeling no pain as they'd been drinking all evening.

Napoleon Solo, Mark Slate, Kuryakin, Dancer, George Dennell and Kit Kittridge were seated around a dining table in April's apartment. It was a post party gathering, as all the other guests at her annual Halloween soiree had come and gone.

Flickering away in the center of the table was a single black candle, giving them their only source of light.

" **Bang-Bang-Bang!"**

"April luv, it's the door, someone's knocking on your door. I'll get it,"Mark said.

"We haven't been making too much noise. It's probably that jerk of a neighbor of mine to complain again."

Slate rose from his chair, padding over to the door in his stocking feet. Looking through the peep hole, he couldn't see a thing.

"Who's there?" No one answered.

Grasping the brass doorknob, he found the door wouldn't budge.

"Oy, what's this going on?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," April called. "Sometimes it sticks. Just give it a good pull."

He did and had no success, so on the second try he used his foot against the wall as leverage and gave the door one good pull.

It flew open, and there in the darkened hall (apparently the nearest light had gone out) a figure stood there in the doorway, with a burning light flickering near its face, though Mark couldn't make out the person's face.

"Can I help you mate?"

There was no response, and Slate repeated his question.

Whoever it was slowly raised their arms, and took a step inside with a heavy step, followed by another loud footfall."

" **Thud-Thud."**

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Mark took a step backwards, silently cursing himself as he'd left his gun and holster lying on April's sofa, as had the others.

" **Unnnnnngh** ," there was a deep groan from the mysterious figure.

"Stop right there!"Solo shouted.

" **Thud-Thud** ,"it continued walking.

"Our hands are lethal weapons, and we will not hesitate to use them," Illya called out.

"Well golly, not me,"George whimpered.

"Somebody get the lights," Kit yelled.

April, since it was her apartment. knew right where to go in the dark, and quickly flipped a wall switch.

Standing in front of Slate was a grotesque creature, green skinned and looking like Frankenstein's monster, but not quite. In it's mouth was a glowing pipe, with the smoke from it circling around its head.

" **Arrrrrrrrrgh!"** It moaned again while still reaching for Mark.

The others dove for the sofa, grabbing their guns, and cocked them one after another," **Click- Click-Click- Click."  
**  
They aimed directly at their uninvited guest.

The creature lowered its arms, and spoke.

"Dash it all, am I too late?" He reached up taking the pipe in one hand and pulled pulling a latex mask from his head with the other.

It was none other than Alexander Waverly.

"The first year I finally make it to Miss Dancer's party and I've missed it. I suppose I do tend to keep odd hours, wot?" He sheephisly smiled, cocking a bushy eyebrow.

"Oh sir," April laughed, "That was quite a fright you gave us. The main party's over, but the after party is just beginning, if you'd care to join us?"

"Yes sir, "Illya spoke," I was just reciting Edgar Allen Poe's 'The Raven'."

"Splendid, now if you'll give me a moment to get out of this costume, I would most enjoy your recitation Mr. Kuryakin. Miss Dancer, you wouldn't happen to have any Aquitaine on hand hand, would you my dear?"

"Sorry no sir. How about some Curtis London dry gin? I stock it just for Mark..I mean, Mr. Slate."

"Curtis dry gin? Now that is what I call a Halloween treat," the Old Man rubbed his hands together with relish.


End file.
